Frank Herbert - High-Opp

The doodler took up his stylus. “I hope they’re all this easy. How does this sound?” He began to write as he composed. “Would you favor giving greater police power to the Bureau of Control by merging that Bureau with the Bureau of Transportation?”

The other three men at the table nodded.

“That’ll do it,” said O’Brien. He passed the revised question to Henry at the machine.

Henry clipped the question in front of him. “What code number? Theirs?”

Movius fingered the number on his lapel. “Use the first three from mine—six, six, two.”

“Right.” He punched out the numbers and question.

“One minute, fifteen seconds,” said O’Brien. “They’ll never notice the delay.”

Navvy moved over beside O’Brien. “They’ll try to bargain with us for Grace. What do we do then?”

Through Movius’ mind ran the words from his father’s book: “…nothing is important to a revolutionist except his cause.” He felt himself trembling. He’d have to go ahead as planned. Have to! Damn them!

Again the machine began to clack. O’Brien read the tape: “Code 089.” He looked at Movius. “The Coor’s private number.” He held up the tape. “In the event of a Separatist uprising, would you give the Coordinator unilateral powers to restore order?”

Movius got to his feet. “Let that one go.”

“What?” O’Brien spoke. The four men at the table looked up at Movius.

“This is exactly what we want,” said Movius. “He has played right into our hands. We want him to show his dictatorial powers.” He took the tape, handed it back to Phil Henry at the transceiver. “Send it through—code and all.”

“That’s dangerous,” said O’Brien. “Unilateral power means he can do anything legally to restore order. He could take the opp on this one, strike right out at us.”

“Let’s hope he does,” said Movius. He turned to Phil Henry. “Start punching this: To All LP’s—Coordinator Helmut Glass has this day by-passed the opp to make himself dictator. The numbers 089 are held by High-Opp friends of the Coordinator’s and were put in the Selector in an illegal manner. The opp requires that the Coordinator must open the Selector for public inspection upon demand. This demand is hereby made.” Movius put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Signed Daniel Movius, Separatist.”

“If they harm Grace,” said Navvy, “I’ll…”

“You’ll do nothing,” said Movius. “Glass and his friends are to be the focus of public hate. If they survive the revolt, they will have public executions.”

“I thought so,” said Navvy. “You’re just like…”

“Shut up!” raged Movius. “I’d like to hang them up by the thumbs and pour acid on them! But I won’t. I’ll…”

“Sorry,” said Navvy.

A Bu-Psych runner ushered Warren Gerard and his gladiator secretary into the room, pointed to Movius and his group in the corner. Gerard, his bald head glistening under the room lights, made his way across the room, nodded to O’Brien. “Hello, Nate. Didn’t know you were acquainted with Dan.” To Movius, “What is all this, Dan?”

“This is Sep headquarters.” Movius looked at Navvy, nodded toward Gerard and bodyguard. Navvy pulled a gun from his pocket, covered the two from behind.

“Quite an organization you have here,” said Gerard. He looked around with a proprietary air, caught sight of Navvy’s gun.

“Don’t move,” said Movius.

The bodyguard made a motion as though to grab a lapel gun.

“You’d be dead before you touched it,” said Movius. He extended a hand, found the gun in its lapel holster, took it. Gerard and aide had five guns between them.

Gerard’s eyes blazed. “So you were going to make me the Coordinator?”

“On an island somewhere,” said Movius. “You won’t have a thing to worry about for the rest of your life.”

“Loyalty index!” said Gerard.

“I’m returning the favor,” said Movius. “I’m saving your life. You and O’Brien may be the only top officials to escape public execution.”

“You’re damned confident of winning!” blurted Gerard.

“I can’t lose,” said Movius.

Navvy snapped manacles on the men’s wrists, led them over to a central pillar, manacled their arms around the pillar. He turned back. At that instant the lights flickered, came back on as the emergency generator started.

“Your men on the relay ship were late,” said Movius. “It’s sixteen minutes after seven.” He turned to Phil Henry. Before he could speak, the transceiver began to chatter. Movius bent to read the message, felt Navvy beside him.

“Would you approve a two-rank advance for information leading to he capture of Separatist leaders Daniel Movius, Nathan O’Brien, Warren Gerard, Quilliam London, Navvy London…” The machine went on clacking out names, district organizers, cell leaders.

“That means they’ve made Grace talk,” said Navvy.

“Give the word,” said Movius. “The revolt is on!”

Phil Henry typed out the signal, a phrase Movius had remembered from an ancient history book.

“FIRE ONE!”

Movius turned to the ring of watchers. “You have work to do. Get on it.”

They dispersed to desks, phones. Some picked up weapons, went out. A tight-wave radio transmitter was warmed up on one desk.

A dead feeling settled into Movius’ stomach. Grace… They’ll pay! Damn them! First the revolt. Nothing else could occupy his attention now. Still he felt the numbness inside him. He wondered if other commanders had felt this way when the battle was joined and the outcome depended on the planning that had gone before. The history books never mentioned it.

The distant roar of an explosion echoed up the conduit tunnels, created a momentary ear-clicking vacuum in the headquarters room. Movius put a green pin into the map at Tampico. Another city secured for them. The radio operator came across the room with a message, scuffing his way through scattered balls of crumpled paper. “Campobella has just capitulated in Manila,” he said.

Movius looked to this watch. Two a.m. They’d been at it seven hours almost. He felt no tiredness, only a dull ache every time he thought of Grace.

O’Brien straddled a chair, his back to the table the four analysts had used. “We’ve done it, Dan. You should be…”

Janus Peterson hurried into the room, ran across to Movius. “The remnants of The Coor’s force are holed up in the Bureau of Communications Building. Shall we bring the place down with explosives?”

“What was that explosion I just heard?” asked Movius.

“They were trying to blast open one of the tunnels. We’ve got them all knocked down and sealed off with rubble.”

Movius turned away, looked at the map. Is Grace with them? he wondered. Do I have the right to send men to their deaths storming the place on the chance we could save her? He shook his head. This should be a decision for someone else.

The transceiver beside him, silent since they’d sent the order to revolt, came to life. It clacked out a single word: “MOVIUS.”

He looked at the message tape, turned to O’Brien, and at that instant saw Navvy enter the room. Navvy stepped heavily over the sleeping forms of Gerard and bodyguard where they were manacled to the pillar. A Bu-Psych medic had given them shots to knock them out when they’d started interfering by yelling curses at Movius. Navvy shifted a stutter gun from his right to his left arm, stopped at the desk and leaned against it. “North and East sections cleared. The rest is mop-up.” He wiped at his face, left a stream of grime down one cheek. “A Bu-Con squad took over a Warren in Lascadou, killed every man, woman and child inside. Then they had the guts to beg for mercy. A mob tore ’em apart, literally.”